


The (almost) lost diaries of Sherlock Holmes

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angry John, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Diary/Journal, Divorce, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e02 The Blind Banker, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Fake Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt John Watson, John-centric, Loss of Trust, M/M, Mary Morstan is nice, Memories, Murder, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, Parent John Watson, Past Drug Use, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Loves John, Tags Are Fun, Tags May Change, Unrequited Love, Very Secret Diary, but there'll be a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a very tiring day, John Watson discovers that his flatmate has been writing about their cases as well.</p><p>“London, whatever-day-is-it, 2010.</p><p>… Today I met a soldier fellow: his name is John Watson and he just has come back from Afghanistan.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea, phone calls and hidden spots

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> I kinda feel the story is way different from what I tried to writr at beginning and I don't like it, so I need to think it over again and it demands time. I'm so sorry about the delay, but I hope I can figure it out soon! Thank you!

“What a heck of a day!” John Watson sighed deeply, putting his key inside the door and opening it. “I’m getting old for this, I’m not that young anymore.” He paused for a moment and laughed a bit. “Yeah, like this would ever happen!”

He has passed by Tesco after work and bought basic stuff - like milk, eggs and something weird that Sherlock had asked - because his mad flatmate couldn’t bring himself to do such mundane thing.

“Sherlock can be a prat sometimes. I can’t even imagine how he was before...” He put the shopping above the kitchen table and took a breath. “I hope my Julie will not turn out like him.” He chuckled a bit and started to think about his past.

After Magnussen had died - John tried not to think about who was responsible for that -, John and Mary split up. There was no harmed feelings between them, just happy memories and a silent pact to not bring over the bad memories either - like Mary shooting Sherlock…

And there was Julie, his daughter, a little princess. John never thought he could love someone like that: she was so cute, so delicate and, yet, so smart and brave. Despite of all Sherlock told him, John didn’t believe that Julie was so alike him. He wasn’t the bravest or kindest or even wisest soul of all human being - in fact, if John was true to himself, he would admit his cowardness with a blush of shame.

Shaking these thoughts, he gave a good look at the main room and a rush of past memories came across his mind: ten years ago, he entered this flat for the first time and moved on with Sherlock. It was such insane experience and, yet, one of the most thrilling and exciting he ever had lived - yes, there was events like the Fall - oh, God, these nightmares still hunted him sometimes - but Sherlock was back, alive and well. John couldn’t ask for more, not really.

“Sherlock?” He called, despite knowing that his flatmate wasn’t at home - everything was really silent and, if Sherlock was in his mind palace, the sofa would be occupied - which was not the case.

Rolling up his sleeves, he made his way to the kitchen - mouth and throat thirsty - and put the kettle on. Hearing his phone ringing, John returned to the main room and took it off pocket.

“Hello, Mary!”

“How are you, John? It is really nice to hear you.”

He smiled. “I say the same to you. How is David? And my princess?”

He heard she chuckling and his smile grew even more. “David is fine, actually. With a bit of cold, but, well, the weather is not very helpful in this manner. About Julie, you can ask yourself.” He heard Mary telling _it’s papa_ to someone and his heart melted.

“Daddy?”

“Julie! How are you, darling?”

“‘M fine, daddy! Ho’ about you?”

“I’m fine too, my dear. In fact, I’m really happy to hear you. I miss you!”

He heard she laughing.

“Daddy, I just saw you and _uncle Sherl_ yesterday!” John tried not to chuckle so loud, but Julie calling Sherlock like that was so adorable! “But I’m missing you too. Can I sleep there today?” She whispered.

After their divorce - which was a peaceful event, by the way - John and Mary decided to not involve the law about Julie’s custody. When she was little, they took turns to take care of her - one day she stayed at Baker Street, another day she stayed with Mary - but most of the time they were together here, in Baker Street. John was still amazed at how Sherlock was understanding those days - well, he still complained about one thing or two, but never about Mary or Julie’s presence, which made John very thankful. Now that Julie has grown up, they let she deciding where she would like to stay.

He also have no complaints about David. The man appeared to have an illogical fear around Sherlock, but, well, a lot of people seemed to have, John was used to it. However, David really loved Mary and Julie - it was plain to everyone - so he even shared a well-mannered talk with Sherlock once or twice. He was a nice guy.

“Of course you can, my princess! _Uncle Shel_ ”, he smirked, “doesn’t mind.”

“Yup! Thank you, daddy. You’re the best! And uncle Sherl too! Love you!”

“Love you too, my dear.” She hung up and John stared at the phone for a couple of minutes, remembering how he had moved back to Baker Street. In fact, there was no big talks or changes, he didn’t even had to ask: his chair was back and his belongs were moved very fast - so fast that John suspected Mycroft had something to do with it.

Going back to the kitchen, John took off the kettle and grabbed a pack of tea, putting it inside one mug with hot water, lost in thoughts. As their earlier days were insane, these days were really calm ones: Moriarty had come back, indeed - but like a Napoleon - as Sherlock liked to say - he was defeated for the last time.

The spoon slipped off his hand and landed under the cabinet. “Damn”, cursed John, kneeling and trying to reach it with his hand, unsuccessfully. He was too short for that. He stood up and grabbed a knife, disposed to catch the spoon without any help. Kneeling again, he extended his arm and tried to reach the item, but the knife got stuck inside one of the floor boards.

“What the…?” Trying to unstuck it with strenght, John not only managed to get the knife out, but to undock the board. It was nearest than the spoon, so he could reach it with one hand without further problems. It was clear soon enough that John was facing a false bottom.

“Why would someone want that?” He shrugged. “This building is old, perhaps a previous owner has used it!” He tried to reach whatever was inside the hole and took it off, careful to not disturb any insect that happened to be there. “Is this a… chest?” He stood up and put the arc on the table, looking carefully. “It doesn’t appear really old, despite being so dusty.” He lifted the opening and saw several books inside it. “Perhaps they’re someone's hidden diaries!” Joh shrugged once again. “There’s no harm on taking a look, right? This person probably is dead or has moved on with his life.”

He took what seemed to be the eldest volume and opened, trying not to sneeze with the dusty.

 

> “London, whatever-day-is-it, 2010.
> 
> … Today I met a soldier: his name is John Watson and he just has come back from Afghanistan.”

 

John closed it with hurry, his heart beating like crazy.

  _It can not be._

_It can NOT be._

_These are… Sherlock’s diaries!_

 He was so shocked he couldn’t even breath properly. What to do about it? John knew he was supposed to hide and not think about it anymore: these were Sherlock’s thoughts, for God’s sake!...

 However, John hadn’t the strenght to do so: he was dying to see what Sherlock had written about their cases together - or what Sherlock thought when no one could read him. Trying to not think too much, he put everything back inside its hidden spot - except for the first volume, which he hid in his bedroom - and sat down to drink his tea like nothing had happened - Sherlock and Julie would be home very soon.


	2. Colors (aka. A Study in Pink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to read his and Sherlock's first adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dears!
> 
> First of all, I need to thank you for the support I've received, you are the best! I honestly didn't expected so much - THANK YOU!
> 
> Also, I need to apologize for any mistake I've made - like dates and stuff. I'll read the first chapter again and fix whatever I can, right? All for you. <3
> 
> It is REALLY difficult to write Sherlock's point of view, but I am enjoying it. I've never written a chapter longest than this one - please forgive me if it is too much or too few.
> 
> Please, make yourself at home and DO correct me where you think it is necessary - I'm loving to write it, but I want to be enjoyable to everyone - especially you.
> 
> Keep in mind that it is not beta'ed (I can't ask Gil for more than she's already doing for me) and that english is not my first language.
> 
> ENJOY! <3
> 
> Jane.

“Daddy!”

John smiled and hugged Julie tightly.

“I can’t breathe, papa!” she said, not even trying to hide her laugh.

“I can’t stop to hugging you, my dear. You are so beautiful!” He let her go with a sigh. “You’re really growing up. It would be lovely if you remained with six years old for the rest of our lives…”

Julie blushed deeply.

“Ugh, daddy. I want to be tall like Uncle Sherl!”

“Who is talking about me?”

“Uncle Sherl!” Sherlock let out a laugh and opened his arms to her, grabbing her and spinning around. John only watched the scene with a bit of jealousy of both.

“Wait, I sense something…”

“What is it, uncle?”

“There is… someone in your school with you’re in love, isn’t there?”

She blushed even deeper.

“What?... Uncle, stop saying it. That’s not true.” Then, she looked deeply at his eyes (still in Sherlock’s arms) and nodded briefly, trying to hide it from John.

_Yeah, I think she’s really growing up…_

Sherlock nodded as briefly as possible and let her touch the floor again. She ran to the kitchen table, removed her bag from her shoulders, retrieved some book and pencils and started to draw like nothing mattered in the world.

“How would you know something like that?” John asked, trying to not sound so harsh.

“A shot in the dark, John. I wasn’t expecting a response at all.” He chuckled and went to the kitchen too, stoping so suddenly that John almost bumped his nose on Sherlock’s back.

“What is it? Don’t be like that, get out of the way, Sherlock!” He asked, but the detective didn’t move a finger. “What is it?”

_Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty. He’s sensing it, sensing it from you: if you remain cool, he’ll never find out. Keep it easy._

“Uncle Sherl?” Even Julie was feeling it. _Something is wrong._

“Uh?” Sherlock seemed to wake up. “Sorry. I’ll make us a cup of tea. Do you want one too, Julie?”

“Yes, please”

John slowly let his heart calm down. It was fine, Sherlock haven’t discovered it…

Yet?

* * *

 “Julie, it’s bed time. Come on!”

“No, daddy, I want to help Uncle Sherl with this, please!”

John chuckled, but remained firm.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you have to sleep, okay? You can continue it later. Uncle Sherl doesn’t mind, does he?”

“No, I really don’t mind it, Julie. Go to sleep.” He hugged her tightly and whispered something on her ear.

“Let’s go then.” John went with Julie upstairs and put her on his bed. “Good night, princess.”

“Good night, Daddy!” He kissed her forehead and left the room, closing the door after him.

Passing by Sherlock’s room, he saw a suitcase open on the bed.

“Sherlock?” He frowned. “Where are you going?”

The detective only shrugged.

“There is a case I need to check, John. I would invite you, but I don’t want to waste your time with boring cases, we have done it so many times in the past…” He paused and breathed. “Julie needs you with her.”

Something was a bit off, John could sense, but everything seemed to be like that these last years, Mary included. He didn’t need to be worried: Sherlock always had come back.

“Well, if you say so. When do you come home?”

Sherlock shrugged again.

“I can’t lend you a date, John. But I’ll keep in touch.”

John nodded and, before taking his leave, patted Sherlock's shoulder carefully.

“Come back safe, right?”

Sherlock nodded and resumed his actions.

 

* * *

 It was only in the morning after that John could bring himself to read the first diary. The guilt was almost too much to handle, but the curiosity was even stronger.

“I need to know.” He shrugged. “I am sorry, Sherlock. I’ll make up to you, I promise.” After taking Julie to school, John went to his bedroom, closed the door and sat on the bed, carefully dragging the book closer.

“Okay, this is it.” He swallowed and opened it.

 

******

 

> _?, 2009._
> 
> _Mycroft is an idiot. Why should I try to write a diary? Nothing excited happens these days. AT ALL._
> 
> _Stupid arsehole._
> 
> ******
> 
> _?, 2009._
> 
>   
> _I’m so bored. SOOO bored that I am even willing to write such a boring thing._
> 
> _By the way, what day is it?_
> 
> **_**_ **
> 
> _..._
> 
> ******
> 
> _2009 (the month doesn’t matter anyway)._
> 
> _B_
> 
> _O_
> 
> _R_
> 
> _E_
> 
> _D_
> 
> ******
> 
> _October, 2009 (the day doesn’t matter either)._
> 
> _I think I’ve found an use for you: you’re gonna be my diary of experiments._
> 
> _Should I begin with the eyeballs?_
> 
> ******
> 
> _December, 2009._
> 
> _No, you are not useful. It takes so long to write something like you._
> 
> _Bye, bye._
> 
> ******
> 
> _2010._
> 
>   
> _Brilliant! Really awesome!_
> 
> _I was dumped from my apartment. Where do I go now? What should I do?_
> 
> _LIKE HELL I will live with Mycroft._
> 
> _NEVER AGAIN!_
> 
> _But the flats around London are so pricey… Mrs. Hudson made me an offer years ago, she owns me a favour, after all, but I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent all by myself even so. I’m in need of a flatmate, but who would accept that? I don’t think I’m so annoying like other – people – seem to believe. In fact, the boring ones are them – like Mycroft likes to say, I’m surrounded by goldfishes (and I’m the one who is the Drama Queen), living their stupid lives like nothing is going on…_
> 
> _Who would be worthy of sharing a flat with me? I should ask Mike or Molly… No, Molly wouldn’t be a clever choice. Perhaps Mike._
> 
> _(I forgot to throw you away – my brain has more useful needs – and I don’t have friends to tell something like that. Don’t be full of yourself!)_
> 
> ******

> _Whatever-day-is-it, 2010._
> 
> _This day started like any other: BORING. I was really annoyed and pissed off (Lestrade has a wonderfull case in his hands and still doesn’t want to ask for my help. He is an idiot just like the others!), so I decided to went to Bart’s Hospital for experiments._
> 
> _As soon as he was available (more like when I was available – Mike Stamford’s research is almost useless, I don’t understand why he keeps doing it), I invited him to share a flat with me, but he – surprisingly! – refused, I don’t remember why. Probably was something dull._
> 
> _“Who would want me as a flatmate?” I asked him (my mind palace is useful, you see? You are not), however, as expected, he had no answer._
> 
> _And that was how I’ve met a possible flatmate: a fellow soldier, John Watson. He studied at Bart’s some years ago (probably Mike’s classmate). He was a good sign for my bored brain – I've started to deduce everything about him within seconds: he had tanned skin, but no above the wrist, a military posture and entered the lab blabbing something about his days – so, army doctor. He had a limp, but hadn’t asked for a chair: probably psychosomatic. And Mike had brought him after our little chat – flatmate!_
> 
> _“Afghanistan or Iraq?” I asked him and you should see his face, whatever you are. He was really pissed off with me- I could tell – more when Mike stated that he had not said a word about him to me. I think he saw me as a stalker or a psychopath._
> 
> _Ha, ha, aren’t common people adorable? – It is a rethorical question, the answer is NO – Too bad for him. John Watson, I’m not a psychopath, I’m a high-functioning sociopath!_
> 
> _I told him another perfect deductions of mine – especially when he said “We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?"– what a dull person. I already knew everything about him I would ever need or want to, you see. I shall delete some of it later, not useful._
> 
> _Mental note: watch out around Molly Hooper, she is acting strangely._
> 
> _Mental note 2: my riding crop needs a repair. Perhaps I should search some methods…_
> 
> _Wait, why am I writing this on you? You’re useless._
> 
> _I will throw you away in the morning. Bye!_

* * *

 John didn’t know if he should laugh or break the detective’s neck. “Sherlock was so full of himself, gosh, I don’t know why I’ve become friends with him. Nope – not at all.”

But John wasn’t being sincere with himself and he knew it. Despite all the strange aura above them at their first meeting, he had sensed something about the other man that haven’t allowed the soldier to go away.

He decided to stop for a tea – reading was one of his most loved activities, one that had kept him sane through his “job” in Afghanistan – but he wasn’t that young anymore.

Sipping his tea, he became curious. What was that case Sherlock needed to attent to so out of the blue?

 

_Greg, do you know if Dimmock has given some case to Sherlock? JW_

_Sorry, John, since I have retired I don’t know a single thing that happens inside the force. GL_

 

Yeah, John should have seem it coming.

  
 _Why are you frowning so much, Doctor Watson? MH_

_Mycroft, have you installed another camera inside the flat? JW_

_Obviously. MH_

_… Nevermind. Do you know where Sherlock is? JW_

_Of course I know. MH_

_Can you tell me? JW_

_Hm, not at all, I do apologize. Perhaps you should ask him? MH_

 

Even Mycroft was of no use.

 

_Molly, can I ask you something? JW_

_Sure, John! Go ahead. *~Molly~*_

_Sherlock was a bit off yesterday. Do you know why? JW_

_No, John, sorry. I will ask him. *~Molly~*_

_That is not necessary, Molly, thanks. JW_

 

Sighing deeply, John finished his tea and came back to bedroom, having decided to read a little more and call Sherlock at night.

******

 

> _Time is useless, boring, I don’t need to count it._  
>  _Why am I talking to you again? You can’t answer me!..._
> 
> _I met with the soldier fellow - John Watson, I believe it was his name - and let him look the flat. Mrs. Hudson, of course, was there too. She said a boring thing about bedrooms, I don’t quite remember it… But the look of his face! You should have seen-..._
> 
> _Hell, I’m doing that again. YOU ARE NOT EVEN A PERSON, FOR GOD’S SAKE!_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Anyway, he is the very trustless type - he had even searched online about me and found my website - The Science of Deduction, which everyone should read. If Lestrade and their idiotic monkeys read it ONCE, I swear, just once, they would be able to solve a lot of cases at the speed of a summer lightning. They are just ordinary people, though, and that’s precisely why they come to me from time to time. Anyway, John - writing his full name is useless and boring - didn't quite believe that I could recognize anything just by the tie, but he knows very little, after all. I could tell almost his entire life just by looking at his clothes and phone._
> 
> _It wasn’t even hard, John._

******

 

 

> _I was becoming bored again - it wouldn’t be a pleasant view, John, you see - when Lestrade came up the stairs. There had been a fourth suicide - and there was a note too! I played the cool-person in front of Lestrade, obviously, but couldn’t avoid to get excited as soon as he left - who cared if it was too much for the soldier? I was too much for any people, it wasn’t nothing new to me and would never be._
> 
> _I was leaving when… No, forget it, I won’t tell anyone._
> 
> _DAMN! You’re just paper and pen, what am I even doing? Mycroft, I should kill you. I SHALL kill you!_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _John Watson praised me._
> 
> _I… (Why am I writing like the way I talk? It is odd). Do you know how completely uncommon it is? No one ever said something like that to me before. I was showing off - like Mycroft and the other dull ones like to say - and I almost believed I’ve offended him (talking about ~~his brother~~  his sister and sister-in-law in a way even I would know was rude) when he took a deep breath and just said:_
> 
> _“That... was amazing.”_
> 
> _Amazing! John thought I was good and even praised me. Normal people just tell me to fuck off…_
> 
> _I’m a freaky, but, perhaps, John Watson is one too. He just can’t be normal._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Well, let’s come back to the interesting part: there were evidences of a suitcase, but the object wasn't at sight. I was becoming really tired of Lestrade and his idiots - Anderson and Sally, the lovers - when I realized: it was a mistake! There WAS suitcase, there had to be - a pink suitcase, judging by all the pink she was wearing - so, it wasn’t a suicide._
> 
> _MURDER. Serial Killer!_
> 
> _I needed to find the suitcase as soon as possible, so I ran around the streets of London, searching, thinking, until I finally found it inside a trash bin. I took it with me - for later analysis, of course -, but for some reason, I was off. I couldn’t concentrate very well, even if I tried to go to my mind palace - which is more useful than you, by the way -, so I even put three nicotine patches on my arm and tried to concentrate. It was useless._
> 
> _“John?” I called. There was no response._
> 
> _“John, I am talking to you.” Again, only the silence answered me. Frowning, I opened my eyes and wondered where he had gone. “I can’t remember…”_
> 
> _The woman was a cheating wife, she had to have a phone, but there’s no sign of it inside the suitcase or at the crime scene. Obviously the killer still had it. How could I prove it? My phone number is even at my website, it would be stupidity._
> 
> _“I need to borrow someone’s phone.” And I called John again, but he really wasn’t at the flat. I texted him:_
> 
> _Baker Street._  
>  Come at once  
>  if convenient.  
>  **SH**
> 
> _If inconvenient,_  
>  _come anyway._ **  
> SH**
> 
> _Could be dangerous.  
>  **SH**  _
> 
> _He took around thirty minutes to arrive and didn’t seem pleased of lending me his phone - I wonder what he was thinking - Baker Street is safe and so placid that it almost kills me from time to time._
> 
> _“What's wrong?”, I asked._
> 
> _"Just met a friend of yours."_
> 
> _Friend? I was too surprised: I don't have friends. But then he said the person was an enemy and I was capable of relaxing once more. I just got so many of them!..._
> 
> _"Which one?"_
> 
> _"Your arch-enemy, according to him."_
> 
> _Of course it was Mycroft, that prat, always trying to control my life. I am not your baby brother anymore! John, you seriously should have taken the money, we could split it (and I would love to see Mycroft’s face then)._
> 
> _We went to grab some dinner at Angelo’s (why does it seems that everyone in London owes me a favour?) and try to catch a glimpse of the murderer - he should be so shocked to receive a text like that from a unknown number! It really was Christmas._
> 
> _Angelo came to conclusion that John was my date - again, the soldier made that weird face. Ha, ha, he was quite strange, I would say, all defensive about his sexuality (I don’t understand it)._
> 
> _He asked some things about me - I don’t remember it either - but slowly I became aware of what he was suggesting - he could say otherwise, but John Watson was flirting with me - even more openly after I’ve said that women were not my area. Well, John, I am sorry, I was flattered by you offer, but I’m not interested, you see. I don’t need relationships._
> 
> _I don’t need love._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _We chased after a cab and came back running to Baker Street (apparently, you can’t stop a car and introduce yourself with D.I. Lestrade’s badge. It’s not my fault that he is so careless and dumb) and I proved, too, that John’s limp was, indeed, psychomathic._
> 
> _I have a reason to show off, don’t I?_
> 
> _There was some drugs burst happening at 221B Baker Street - and I take off my hat to Lestrade, he can be evil sometimes, the bastard - and I had to explain everything I discovered for their little and unused brains. “Rachel” - the note the fourth victim had left - was a password to a online tracker of her phone. Now we could find out where the killer was…_
> 
> _But it wasn’t needed, no, I assure you (?) - the killer (a cabbie) showed up and introduced himself to me and even asked me to play with him! How nice, don’t you think? - Don’t need to answer, I’m being sarcastic._
> 
> _We went to Rolland-Kerr college, where he tried to force a game on me, even threatening me with a false gun - for reals? I should have been offended, but the game was too much delicious, challenger, I couldn’t resist._
> 
> _Just when I was ready to take the pill and trust my own judgment, a shot came through the window, hitting the cabbie on the shoulder. I didn’t see who have done it, but I was  frustrated: the killer refused to tell me if I was right or wrong! But a little pressure and a name came out his lips: Moriarty…_
> 
> _To be honest, I don’t know who is it either, but it won’t take long, I’m good (“very good”, as John Watson has classified himself once)._
> 
> _Speaking of John Watson, he was the one who shot the cabbie - I've found out when I was telling Lestrade the traits of the killer and then - bam! I just saw him there, looking all innocent at the police, pretending to be just passing by… Everything clicked within one minute inside my head and, because of the amazement, I couldn’t avoid to built a space for him inside my mind palace. I am not being sentimental - don’t be ridiculous: John Watson is like a lively experiment and I need to learn more about it._

* * *

John took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to stop his mind. Remembering those shameful events - oh, God, that awkward dinner at Angelo’s - was too much for him. He decided to call that a day. He could continue tomorrow.

Julie was back to Mary’s place and Mrs. Hudson went to chat with Mrs. Turner, so the flat was really lonely. If John still had worked at the hospital, he could occupy his mind, but now he was a retired one too (by choice - civilian life would never suit him at all), there was almost nothing to do.

It was evening already, so he decided to order a takeaway and call Sherlock.

 

“Hello, John.”

“Hi, Sherlock. How are everything going?”

“Dull, as always. What about you?”

“Same.” He chuckled. “Look, do you know when you'll be back?... Julie was all whiny this morning.”

There was a long pause.

“I can’t… I mean, there are many possibilities and I haven’t even talked to everyone who is involved. It seems this case will take a while.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“No. There’s no need of it, Julie and Mary need you here, with them. I’ll…”

“Sherlock?”

“I’ll be fine, John. Don’t worry.” There was some noise. “I need to hang up. I’ll text you later. Goodbye.”

“Sherl-...”

  
But the other had already hung up. It was a bit strange, but John thought that perhaps Sherlock was only frustrated about the case.

Some hours later, a text:

_‘Night, John. SH_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? :D


	3. The blind heart (aka. The Blind Banker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reads the next entries of Sherlock's diary.
> 
> "Shad Sanderson Bank. Oh, Sebastian, I thought you could do better - what a DULL job.  
> Boring. Boring. B-O-O-O-O-RING!  
> After we had exchanged our greetings ('How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?' And here you were, asking me. You should be grateful I’ve even remembered your face!), I introduced John:  
> 'This is my friend, John Watson.'  
> As he asked me, 'Friend?', I wanted to reply: 'Yes, Sebastian, I do have a friend! How life can be surprising sometimes!', but John corrected the phrase without a doubt:  
> 'Colleague.'  
> Yep, I’ll not win over you this time, Sebastian. Perhaps sometime in the future…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys!
> 
> This chapter was hard to write because of two things:
> 
> 1) It's Sherlock's diary - how can something be harder than this? I think he wouldn't write like us, he would forgot some parts and even change others... 
> 
> 2) The Blind Banker is my least favorite episode. :/
> 
> I hope it's worth of your reading! Even if it's not, DON'T WORRY! The Great Game is next and I assure you - I'm pretty much excited about that! Moriarty! <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, bookmarking and letting lovely kudos! <3
> 
> Jane Timothy Freeman.

_Dust. Fire. Bullets._

_A dull and throbbing pain in his shoulder._

_He’s falling in the ground. His vision is blurry._

_“Watson!”_  

* * *

 

 John’s eyes snapped open, a cold shiver passing down his spine. Panting, he looked at the window: still dark outside.

Trying to regain his breath, he laid down on the bed again, looking at the ceiling, pensive. He hadn’t had this dream for years. He was almost fifty years old - for God’s sake! These nightmares should have stopped by now…

Sighing deeply, John tried to sleep again, but it was useless. Only if Sherlock was here, he perhaps would have a companion to talk to on that lonely night!...

John closed his eyes, a worry that was increasing inside his heart becoming even stronger than before. Sherlock had never refused his help before - on the contrary, the doctor was the one to refuse, having to work or to watch over Mary or Julie. Now, the detective was being pretty obtuse - and John didn’t like it in the least.

“Have I done something wrong?...” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. One remarkable thing about my mad friend: he always says what he thinks.”

Sighing again (because his sleep didn’t let any sign of coming back soon), John stood up and took Sherlock’s diary, which was safely guarded under his pillow.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, as a kind of excuse. Letting a deep breath, he sat on his bed and opened the volume: 

******

 

> _I don’t know what time, or day, or month, or whatever useless information people like to write on things like you, is it. The only thing I know: this is XXI Century’s London._
> 
> _Pretty useful, don’t you think?_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _After our first case together - I’ll reffer to it like that because he helped me a lot, I must admit - John H. Watson (yep, he has some H._ incognitum _in his name, but I shall discover what it is, don’t worry) moved for once at all to 221B Baker Street._
> 
> _I have to admit as well - I think I’ll never be used to it. You see, he seems to like my inteligence (as we have discussed before in this journal), but he can be very sharp and strict sometimes. For example, now I need "to clean after my mess"._
> 
> _I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would do it without a word (or not, perhaps some remark like “Not your housekeeper” or anything as dull as well), so I decided not to worry… He, however, seemed to like his house (flat) as clean as possible._
> 
> _May I ask you, John, why do you think it is a great idea?_
> 
> _Dust never bothered me before - but you should see how fatter Mycroft looks when his allergy is active! I love when he comes to visit, it always cheers me up - mocking him is my favorite thing._
> 
> _Some of my experiments need a not-too-clean room, you see? Some bacteria and fungi only grow in the perfect condictions. Our flat is just like that, John. What is the harm?_

******

 John stopped the reading, laughing so much that his belly was aching. Sherlock was unbelievable! That bastard!

Wiping the tear of his eyes, the doctor couldn’t help to notice that Sherlock almost sounded like a child when writting his diary, a fact John would’ve never guessed: the detective always seemed so cool, so above all things…

Perhaps Sherlock was only a big kid, after all.

******

> _That day began really and truly boring. John left the flat to do some shopping - one of that dull and mundane things he seemed so fond of - and I was alone. I’m glad for that - one of my “potential” clients offered me a case regarding the Jaria Diamond, but, as you perhaps have noticed, I only take cases that are interesting - which, of course, it was not. They, then, sent me some threat, but I took care of it._
> 
> _It was funny, though, when John returned to the flat (pissed off a lot - I don’t quite remember why, perhaps something about machines…) and said:_  
>  _“You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left.”_
> 
> _Ah, John, the way your mind works makes me envy you so much! It would be amazing if the world worked like you and the annoying human beings out there seem to think!_
> 
> _Anyway, I’ve receive an e-mail (before John took the notebook - his notebook - away from me. What can I do? Mine was in the bedroom and it took less than a minute to figure your password. You shouldn’t bother yourself with that.You have nothing that someone would be interested in, John. Even your "adult material" - yep, labelling a folder “Xmas 1994” is so stupid - doesn’t seem that interesting - for me, anyways)... Where was I? Oh, right! Sebastian, one of my ““““colleagues”””” in college, sent me an e-mail about a security fail in the Bank where he works._
> 
> _I thought the case was boring (On 99% times I’m right), but I wanted to take a look at him, see how he was doing after such a long time._
> 
> _(I think John was babbling about something)._

******

 “It shouldn’t be so funny. It shouldn’t!” The doctor groaned, trying to stabilize his breath again: he was laughing so much!

“You git. Why am I not surprised that you didn’t hear what I was saying? You never listen to me…”

******

> _Shad Sanderson Bank. Oh, Sebastian, I thought you could do better - what a DULL job._
> 
> _Boring. Boring. B-O-O-O-O-RING!_
> 
> _After we exchanged our greetings (“How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” And here you were, asking me. You should be grateful I’ve even remembered your face!), I introduced John:_
> 
> _“This is my friend, John Watson.”_
> 
> _As he asked me, “Friend?”, I wanted to reply: “Yes, Sebastian, I do have a friend! How life can be surprising sometimes!”, but John corrected the phrase without a doubt:_
> 
> _“Colleague.”_
> 
> _Yep, I’ll not win over you this time, Sebastian. Perhaps sometime in the future…_

******

“Oh, shit…” John scratched his neck, trying to ease the guilty inside his chest. “Sherlock tries to sound that he was only fooling around, but I think my saying must’ve hurt him.”

******

> _I tried to mock him with my deductions - of course I could observe almost every detail of his life only by looking at his clothes - but Sebastian seemed to know me better._
> 
> _“Put the wind up everybody. We hated him.”_
> 
> _Yep, you and everybody else in the world. Why am I not surprised, Sebastian? But don’t worry, I don’t care. You’re dull._
> 
> _EVERYONE is dull._

******

“Why can’t you just admit you’re hurt, Sherlock? Is this that hard?” John’s guilty was becoming bigger with every new line.

******

> _“Go on, enlighten me.”, Sebastian said. “Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell? … You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan. … Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!”_
> 
> _“I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.”_
> 
> _Which is a blatant lie. You’re such an arse, dear colleague of mine, thinking you can trick me or that you are clever. You should look at your watch sometimes… (I’ve told this to John later)._
> 
> _Let’s just skip the part with my past - it is past, after all - and talk about the case: there was a break-in, someone just left a message (yellow painting and some undefined signs). Running around the floor, I noticed that, because of the pillars, it was only visible where some Edward Van Coon sat - even the hour when the message was left matched with Van Coon’s worktime - he was responsible of Hong Kong’s accounts. The more interesting thing is: the security controls every door inside the bank, but none of them was opened at the hour of the break-in. Worst: it only took 60 seconds to left the message._
> 
> _How could it be done? Don’t worry, it gets better!_
> 
> _We (John and I, obviously) went to Van Coon’s flat (there wasn’t, indeed, many people with his name in the phonebook) and tried to contact him, but, apparently, there wasn’t anyone at home. There was a new label indicating the flat on the floor above - new neighbour (as a matter of a fact, NO ONE ever replaces the label, John, unless it’s a new dweller). After proving myself right (the woman allowed me to enter and even to use her balcony - that’s why I say people are so DUMB. What if I was a killer? What if I was a burglar? You shouldn’t trust someone so easily. I came down to Van Coon’s balcony and the door was open._
> 
> _Unusual._
> 
> _John kept shouting “are you alright?” and such no sense only he’s capable of, but I didn’t lose my objetive: as soon I went to the bedroom, you would never guess what I’ve found!..._
> 
> _Van Coon was laying down on his bed, a gun hole on the right side of his head and the apparent weapon inside his hand. Suicide, right?_
> 
> _WRONG! You couldn’t see it (you're not at the crime scene), of course, but he was left-handed. How could he shoot himself in the right side of his head?_
> 
> _I’m glad that you are following my deductions (and even if you aren't, I don’t care - you can’t talk at all, unlike that new D.I., Dimmock. He has a LOT to learn, poor soul)._
> 
> _Some time later, there was another murder (because it WAS murder, you see) just like Van Coon’s. It was becoming interesting! My favorite type of puzzle!_
> 
> _After some further investigation (with a charge sheet on John’s name, you should have seen his face!), John and I (again) discovered the link between the crimes: smuggling, of course. They were bringing rare chinese relics to England, where they would be sold on auctions without unsuspectingly. To both of them to be murdered, there was only one possibly solution: one had taken something he shouldn’t have… But what?_
> 
> _The code was something unique to them, so I just guessed it had to be reference to books, but which one? They had a similar taste, but none of my line of thought seemed successful. John and I stayed up all night and nothing!..._
> 
> _Afterwards, he just went to that dull job of his - as much I don’t like to admit it, John seems to enjoy the common life - and I stayed to think. And I thought a lot, I assure you, but my mind was blank. And, after coming back, he only told me: “I’ve got a date”. Are you serious, John? In the middle of a case? How could you not be bothered by it at all?_
> 
> _I didn’t like or dislike it (those banalities don’t concern me), but some further investigation was needed. So, I thought that perhaps it would be useful: I even gave some tickets for the Yellow Dragon Circus to John and his girl. The show, you’ve already noticed, was linked to my current case._
> 
> _We went (all the three of us - John’s face again! Priceless!) and, as the lovely couple only paid attention to what was happening outside, I went to look for clues behind the curtains. Indeed, there was a hidden bag with many cans of yellow spray and someone even tried to kill me - without success. The girl John was with (I don’t recall her name, it was something with S… Sabrina? Sarah?) hit the man on the head and everyone was saved! The End, right?_
> 
> _Wrong again! How could you be more boring? I feel like I’m talking to walls. Perhaps I should try to write it inside my mind palace - it’s safer and more dynamic than you, thanks._
> 
> _I’m not a person who likes to praise another human being, you see, but I must admit: normal minds are the best as conductors of light! John and Sa… whatever, helped me a lot to go through all the parts missing on the puzzle…_
> 
> _And, as I’ve returned to the flat to tell them my deductions - John would say “amazing” or “brilliant”, I’m sure, but don’t let him know, he can be very shy about that sometimes - they’re gone…_
> 
> _And a yellow threat was left on my wall._
> 
> _If it was me, I would be excited: playing dangerous games is way much better than just sitting and waiting for smart crimes to happen. However, we are talking about another human beings, two people who were dragged inside this mess by me._
> 
> _I couldn’t afford of losing John…_ Who would share the rent with me?
> 
> _I went to the rescue - almost like a super hero! - and saved the day (more or less, the details are a waste of my time)._
> 
> _Only Shan, the Head of the organization, which name was "Black Lotus", escaped, to my displeasure, but it couldn’t be helped. I’m only glad that everything turned well (as the boring minds of the normal people would say): John’s girl seemed to be a way more masochist than I’ve foreseen, and they continued to go out as usual; the pin Amanda, Van Coon’s secretary, was wearing, which was a gift he’d stolen from the smuggling, cost the amount of nine million pounds (“Who wants to be a million-hair”, one paper said the next day. For reals?_ Should it be funny? _)..._
> 
> _To be sincere, I would have liked to avoid Soo Lin Yao’s death… However, it doesn’t matter anymore._

******

John closed the book, trying to normalize the fast beating of his heart. Sherlock was an idiot sometimes (and he wasn’t a better story teller than John - so many vital references were put aside!), but the brief shows of his mercy and kindness were breathtaking.

If the doctor was sincere with himself, he would admit that Sherlock Holmes, that bastard, was breathtaking.

* * *

_Where are you? JW_

_You should call, you know. JW_

_Only if you need my help, of course. JW_

_Paris is beautiful at this time of the year. JW_

_I mean, if you’re in Paris. JW_

_Are you? JW_

_Yeah, sorry, you’re too busy. JW_

_‘Night, Sherlock. JW_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, do keep in mind that English is not my first language and it isn't beta'ed either! :D
> 
> Have some suggestion? Is this worthy of your reading? Should I write more? Should I write less? DO TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU THINK ABOUT IT! <3


	4. How to be brave (aka. The Great Game part. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie shows in the flat. 
> 
> John reads Sherlock's thoughts about Moriarty and The Great Game.
> 
> "I invite John and he says to me 'If you want me to (come)'. And that’s one of the most important parts of living with him.
> 
> He saw almost all the things in this world so far - even more between youth, Afghanistan and his moving with me - but there’s so much more he hasn’t seen!
> 
> Surprises.
> 
> John can be very, very easy to surprise. Sometimes it amuses me, showing parts of myself that people call “being human” and most of them are sure I don’t have.
> 
> Grabbing my coat, I answer: 'I’d be lost without my blogger.'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys!
> 
> I know, I know, I've been a bad girl D: I'm so, so sorry!
> 
> Anyway, the chapter was too. damn. big, so I decided to split it in three parts (if you all don't mind). And this is like a teaser for part 2 and the later chapters - please do tell me if it's too cheesy, bad, etc.
> 
> Thank you for all your patience!
> 
> Jane.
> 
> PS: THIS ISN'T BETA'ED. :(

“John?” Called Mrs. Hudson, knocking on the door.

“Hm?” He murmured, trying to open his eyes. “What time is it, Mrs. H?”

“My dear, it’s already past noon. Julie is here, she wants to talk to you.”

“Past noo-” SHIT, he thought, hurrying to dress himself. “Just a moment! I’ll be there in a minute.”

“John, I…”

“Yes?”

“How are you? I’m concerned, Sherlock’s getting too long to hurry back-”

“Don’t worry, he is fine. He did things like that for two whole years”, don’t let your anger show out, he warned himself, “Sherlock will return home very soon.”

The detective could be absent sometimes, but he always came back.

“Ahn… Okay, dear, we’re waiting downstairs.” The uncertainty in her voice sent thrills down his spine. _You don’t need to worry so much. Stays calm._

* * *

 

“Papa!”

“My dear, how I’ve missed you!” He hugged her tightly.

“Me too! Me too!”

“How’s Mary? And David?”

“Oh, papa, all happy! You?”

He chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“I’m fine, my dear, since you’re here. Want to grab some ice cream?”

She frowned for a bit, pensive.

“I need to do my homework, papa!”

“But it’ll be really quick, I swear!” John kissed his own fingers. “It’s a promise!”

Julie smiled.

“But don’t tell mama, ‘kay?”

They went out, holding hands just like John (and Julie, secretly) loved.

“Papa…”

“Yes, my dear?”

“...”

They were almost at the grocerie shop, but her sudden silence was really strange. “Julie?”

“... I want that flavour!” She smiled and John let the matter pass, but inside his heart he knew something was off.

 

* * *

_Minsk, Belarus_

_…_

_Did you think I was going to say “London”? Wrong!_

_That’s why the world is boring - everything is so predictable. For instance, you’re an inanimate object and, still, I could see what’s going on inside your little…_

_…_

_I’m on a plane right now, trying to stay calm and cool. You see, normally I would go to my Mind Palace, but it’s filled with so. much. trash. from the previous “to-be-client” and the cleaning will take some time. I just don’t have the strength to do so._

_Wait! Do you seriously want to know what happened? You and John are so alike sometimes. If you weren’t Mycroft’s doing, I would say that he is trying to spy on me._

_Back to the “to-be-client”: he was accused of murdering his own - how do I call her? “His girl?” But she isn’t - wasn’t - his property… Human’s sayings really confuse me. Anyway, I asked about the crime, you see, because I thought this case could worth something - a six, at least. However, it turned out that it was only a case of angry and domestic violence - so mundane and plain. No serial killers. No puzzle. Not something I could be praised for solving._

_If Mycroft has OCD, I have some grammar complex. English is a beautiful language, our truthfully mother, our queen! How people can destroy it so easily?_

_Mr. Berwick, it’s not “I weren’t a man”, it’s “I wasn’t a man” (some people would agree with her, you see, even without the mistake)._

_You’ve let your guard down and your feelings took place. Human weakness, that’s all. You’ll be hanged (not “hung”) for that and, as long as I feel sorry for your english, I don’t regret not helping you._

_Not at all._

_**_

_I’m back._

_**_

_London is the same._

_**_

_My miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind._

_**_

_Where’s John’s gun?_

_**_

_Gotcha! Now the face painted on the wall will suffer! Let’s see how much time the smile can survive!..._

_**_

_It didn’t last as much as I thought._

_**_

_Where is John?_

_**_

_JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHN._

_**_

_JAWN._

_**_

_My writting is getting worse, but I can’t shot with my other hand, can I?_

_**_

_That’s it._

_**_

_John is angry with me. And I don’t even know why!_

_Sure, sure, I found your gun on its hidden spot (you shouldn’t call it that way, John. It’s plain as day: even Mrs. Hudson would find it)._

_Okay, I shot the wall with it._

_The kitchen was a mess._

_There was a head inside the fridge with your food._

_I AM BORED! BORED, BORED, B-O-R-E-D!_

_And I bursted some heat - is that what people call it? - words. I was not angry. I don’t have emotions - words on you. Fine, I agree. But you’ve done something bad to me first!_

_I’m the first and only consulting detective, you know? How can you write some… facts about me like that? I need to be discreet, you know._

_And don’t even mention my blog! It’s way safer than yours. And much more creative! A Study in Pink? Seriously?_

_He left without eating anything. I think John will stay at Sarah’s. How nice of him! Abandoning me like that, in the middle of a boredom-period!_

_To complete it all, there was some explosion on the building in front of the flat, so I’ll have to be ready. Soon enough, I’m sure lots of people (curious passants and officers - I mean, useless at all) will be hanging around here._

_Oh, and let’s not forget Mycroft. Damn! He always shows up after that. “Looking after his little brother”. Yeah, right._

_Could this day be MORE tiresome?_

_**_

_I’m taking a break while Mycroft’s waiting in the sitting room. He’s been here for almost three hours, for God’s sake! When will he leave?_

_Apparently, some Andrew West jumped of a train and smashed his head on the train heels._

_Sorry, but I. am. not. working. on. your. case. brother. dear._

_Where’s John? I just want to play my violin. Is that too much to ask?_

_**_

_Mycroft finally left! I was just thinking I couldn’t handle it anymore or I’d throw up on the carpet right there, when John arrived, climbing the stairs with rush. My life-saver!_

_Not so much, indeed. He can be very, very stubborn, but only when he wants to be. What means Mycroft will keep him inside his hands for some time. Not that I’m bothered about that, not really. I can work pretty well for me, you see. It’s no surprise that I’m the smart one between the Holmes Brothers._

_I AM, MYCROFT! Get out my diary!_

_John was very concerned (aparently, about me, but I’m not sure). I guess he almost strained his back, running so much after sleeping in a sofa (GET. OUT. FAT.ARSE)!_

_Mycroft likes to show off in front of John. Apparently, he thinks I’m concerned about the dear doctor will think. I am not, you know._

_Not even the slightest._

_But I know how to leave Mycroft embarassed: how’s the diet, brother dear?_

_You should’ve seen his face._

_He - LITERALLY - adjusted himself on the couch with discomfort. I WIN!_

_But then he HAD to take John into matters. Damn it, he’s my fri-flatmate, Mycroft, not my mother!_

_Brother dear tried and tried to explain to me how it was a national importance and whatever speech he uses with his fellow politicians - I, on the other hand, am an independent consulting detective now and can be very, very intransigent (your words) when I want to. He tried to show off again, but none of it worked. Brother dear went home without my consentment._

_Seriously, I want the face he makes when he’s angry. I should make it my new job - Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft’s annoyance, the first one and unique in the world. How does that sound?_

_…_

_John is looking at me now._

_“Why’d you lie?”, he said. Plain as day, isn’t it? If you were a recording, you would see me taking a deep breath and looking at him._

_“You’ve got nothing on - not a single case. That’s why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”_

_Well, well, John, dear fellow, Mycroft is being a nuisance. He has the entire secret service at his feet. He has the country at his feet. And then he comes to me and expect that his little brother will follow him around as a little puppy?_

_No way._

_The proper question is: why shouldn’t I?_

_Before I can notice it, John seems to understand. I look around, trying to find a way to prevent my downfall again - boredom is slowly bulding up in my chest, it was a matter of a minutes until despair…_

_“Sibling rivalry. Now we’re getting somewhere.”_

_I just can’t believe it! Do you seriously think it’s a matter of a competition between Mycroft and I? That’s so ridiculous!_

_Don’t be absurd, John. It’s plain as day that I’m way better than Mycroft. Look at me! I’m an independent person (fine, almost) and I am skinner than him. Of course he’s not worthy of a competition with me! If anyone was in a competition here, it would be him with me! He was always so jealous…_

_I’m trying to tell John that, but, apparently, “fate” (I can feel my face contorting here) doesn’t allow me to do so. In fact, Inspector Lestrade chose this moment to give me a phone call._

_It’s promising. How could I refuse?_

_I invite John and he says to me “If you want me to (come)”. And that’s one of the most important parts of living with him._

_He saw almost all the things in this world so far - even more between youth, Afghanistan and his moving with me - but there’s so much more he hasn’t seen!_

_Surprises._

_John can be very, very easy to surprise. Sometimes it amuses me, showing parts of myself that people call “being human” and most of them are sure I don’t have._

_Grabbing my coat, I answer: “I’d be lost without my blogger.”_

* * *

 “What is a blogger, Papa?”

John jumps, closing the diary as soon as possible. Right coming back after the ice cream, he left Julie studying in his room and came to the sitting room, grabbing the book without thinking too much about it.

“Well… Hm… You see, it’s a person who writes on a blog, my dear. And a blog is a kind of diary - like the one I know you have, but on the internet.”

She blushes.

“I don’t have a diary, no, no!” Then her eyes widen. “But, Papa, a diary is a thing you don’t show to others, right?”

He ruffles her hair.

“Sometimes, yes. But, other times, people want to show the world how wonderful and human a person can be.”

Julie makes a funny and confused face.

“I don’t understand.”

He puts her in his lap and looks at her eyes.

“Imagine that mama has made something you really, really loved.”

“Yes?”

“What do you do? Do you keep it to yourself or do you show it to the world?”

Her eyes bright.

“Oh, oh, I show it to the world! Because I love mama!” She hugs him. “I love Papa too!”

He chuckles, leaving the diary alone for a moment.

“I love you too, my dear.”

 

>   
> **The two people that I love and care about mostly in the world.**


	5. Hear my plea (aka. The Great Game, part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, you all! \o/
> 
> Thank you for your lovely patience and kind words! I'm still very excited about this and doing my best! \o/
> 
> This episode is particular hard to write, so I hope you can give me feedbacks to make it better! Also, it's longer: >3k words, I believe.
> 
> Again, please keep in mind that english is not my first language and this is not beta'ed! <3
> 
> Thank you!!
> 
> Jane.

_"In the way to Scotland Yard, I could barely contain myself. After such a period of boredom, finally a case! And not an ordinary one, I’m afraid. At least an eight!_

_I could see that, if John wasn’t totally pleased at me, yet he wasn’t mad at me anymore, for which I’m glad. That’s a remarkable thing about him: you can think you know what reaction he’ll have, but he can behave oddly enough to make one confused. And he’s a good ~~friend~~ colleague and can at least trust me._

_Lestrade was waiting for us in the lobby. “You like the funny cases, don’t you? The surprising ones” and I’m still amazed of how you could be a DI if you can’t even tell why someone as myself gets the cases. I don’t have fun with them - again, I’m not a psychopath, I'm a high-functional sociopath and things like “having fun” with friends are not my division, as you, of course, would say. The problem is: I’m observant and I like puzzles. I have grown so found of them my mind can’t be at peace anymore if I don’t have them. That’s why I went into drugs in the years of my past - to forget the puzzles, to have the blissful ignorance the people in general seem to have without effort. I would quote what someone said about it, but my mind palace is too important to store such useless things._

_Lestrade told me the case had to do with the explosion in Baker Street, just in front of the flat - the one, apparently, due to a gas leak. In fact, it wasn’t an accident at all - they (someone I don’t know yet) made it look like one. Almost everything was burnt into ashes but a strong box with an envelope inside._

_Hmmmmm… It was getting better and better. A message! For who?_

_And it was for me! Oh, if John wasn't still a little bit sad and Anderson and Donovan weren't so close to the office, I would have jumped and shouted “it’s Christmas!” (Lestrade considers himself my father, he wouldn't mind). Several criminals tried to have contact with me or sending puzzles - but none of them succeeded after some hours - I solved Donovan and Anderson’s fake puzzle in ten minutes two years ago (in my mind, they ARE criminals. They use their brains to do such boring things! It’s a crime!) - but, still, they are fun to solve._

_Lestrade let me have the envelope with some remark about the Scotland Yard’s anti bomb division (dull). As soon as my eyes laid on the envelope, I noticed it wasn't british - in fact, it was bohemian, from Czech Republic. I would be very surprised if there were fingerprints - it would make my work easier, which I hoped didn't happen - and my name was written with a fountain pen, Parker Duofold – iridium nib, by a woman. John was surprised, of course, but it was clear as day it was a woman who had written in the envelope. After opening it…_

_There was a phone. A pink phone. We know what it means! Come on, we know! Even John knows…!_

_Sorry, John. No offence.”_

* * *

 “Of course not, you bloody git.”

* * *

  _“It wasn't the same phone as my first case with John… And then I noticed._

_Lestrade said something, I don’t know… **A STUDY IN PINK!**_

_Can you believe it? All Scotland Yard was already reading John’s ridiculous blog! And they, of course, already noticed I don’t know - or better, I don’t care - about the Sun and the Earth doing things - such an useless fact!_

_But the infuriating thing is Donovan laughing at me! John, I am the one who should be laughing at her, not the contrary, for God’s sake!_

_Unfortunately, I’m afraid John’s blog has a more… select public. Someone read his blog and bought a new phone with a pink case. Interesting! We’re dealing with a dangerous fan!_

You have 1 new message.

_Oh, vox mail! And four short pips and one long pip - just like the ancient societies and dried seeds. A warning - and a photo of fireplace in some sort of abandoned building…_

_Wait. I know this place! It’s the 221C, if I’m not mistaken: the flat in the vicinity of ours, John!_

_This is a ten! The case has my my full attention now!_

_We left Scotland Yard with a certainty: an explosion was going to happen again!”_

* * *

 “Sherlock, you can really be a prick sometimes.”

* * *

_Of course, I was right. Even if I had doubts, the door of the 221C was open very recently - the keyhole showed it - and Mrs. Hudson made very clear she was the only owner of the key._

_She kept babbling about something, but I couldn’t care less. My apologies, Mrs. H., my attention couldn’t be burdened with something mundane._

_We entered the main room and, just in front of the fireplace, a pair of shoes. Nothing more, nothing less. Despite John’s warning, I knew the shoes wouldn’t be a problem (there is a lot of ways to kill Sherlock Holmes. It’s game I often practice with myself - especially in my moments of boredom: it’s fun and helps me to be always aware of my surroundings) - they were a clue for a game I and someone I didn’t know were playing._

_The phone rang - number blocked. I answered it and then a woman - crying - started talking. I won’t bother to transcript the talking - for God’s sake, the mind behind all this really wanted my attention. I was even called sexy!_

_Neither John or Molly would call me that. However, I didn’t let it bother me - I was right about the puzzle, about the clue, about everything. And being who I am - consulting detective, always solving crimes - I would, of course, get some enemies. I was expecting that for a time, and the time had finally come._

_Now it was time to act!_

_12 hours._

******

_We went to St. Bart’s hospital, where I took my time to observe whatever I could - fingerprints, type of shoe, mud, pollen (if there was any)... Everything. Every possibility must be taken into consideration._

_The facts talk by themselves. Facts don’t lie._

_I was doing my research when John come in - all worried about the hostage. I really feel pained to be so hard on John - he is a soldier and a doctor, after all. He has certain urges of helping people I won’t understand in a life time. However, I needed to focus on solving the puzzle._

_…_

_And just as I needed all my attention to solve the puzzle (remember?), Mycroft started texting me. Eight times! For God’s sake, please don’t go to your dental appointment and have cavities because all the cakes and candies you eat - I know you still have candies in your pockets, only a blind man wouldn't be able to see the shadows of them! My brother thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll be running around London and doing his dirty “legwork”!..._

_However, he is quite right in this matter. The missile plans are really worth of my attention and I have a suspicion that our bomber is trying to distract me from them. I really have this feeling and, just so, I need to be quiet as always. For now, I won’t let that fill my mind too much. I won’t let a criminal catch me - I’m better than that._

_…_

_Oh, for God’s sake! Why do people have free time?_

_Molly came in and I know, I know she works here, but bringing her boyfriend as well? Seriously? Even if he works at Barts, please… I don’t have time for minor puzzles now! My mind is non stop - as soon as I see something suspicious, it starts deducing everything…_

_And as soon as I laid my eyes in Molly’s boyfriend, I saw he was gay. And I even said it out loud - to her and John’s confused faces. The other man, however, did not seem to be so affected._

_Oh, of course!_

_He put his number under a metal dish. Seriously, what was he trying to do? If he was trying to hide it from Molly, I am sorry, but shouting it in the middle of a street would be more discrete._

_Bloody hell! Now at all the times!_

_(I am glad I can swear here - not that glad, but glad. I need to maintain my cool composure)._

_Now Molly is mad at me. I can’t say I’m sorry, I really can’t. John can give her my apologies later.”_

* * *

“Oh, Sherlock, how can you be like that?” John was laughing till tears now. He remembered everything - not as clearly as before, but still remembered it.  
John was specially pissed at that time - and Molly was pissed too, but he didn't blame her. Sherlock was not kind; however, he knew she liked the detective a lot and wouldn't stay like that for a long time.

She is amazing, really. Molly could be patient at Sherlock like no one - including himself - would. John wished she could have the partner she deserves - not a bloody high-functioning sociopath who didn't care to point out your fails in your face - John still remembered the lipstick incident the first time Sherlock and he met…

And, again, he knew he wasn't being fair with the detective. After all they had lived so far, he knew Sherlock needed more credit and more belief than the common people were disposed to give him.

* * *

_I don’t like when John is angry. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t really care about human emotions, of course, but he proved to be very useful. He doesn’t like to help too much when he is disappointed at me._

_To make him a little happier and distracted, I asked for a second opinion. He refused at first, but gave up soon. I wasn’t expecting too much - no offense, John - because he’s only starting at this. And, even so, he was on sparkling form. Above the average, really! The shoes were trainers (correct!), they seemed to be new, but the sole was well-worn (correct!), the design was from the eights (originals, John, but, still, quite correct) and they belonged to a kid (again, correct!)._

_Unfortunately, John lost almost all the critical details: well-cleaned, loved shoes. And the owner had eczema (traces of flaky skin on them) and the analysis of the polen and the mud told me he came from Sussex to London twenty years ago and left his shoes behind…_

_Oh._

_I’m still surprised of how I could have missed this clue. It was right in front of my face - Carl Powers, of course! How couldn’t it be? From twenty years ago!_

_When I was a kid, just a kid, I remember to have read about a young boy, a champion swimmer, that came to a tournament and drowned in the pool. All his clothes were still on what he’d left them - except for the shoes._

_No one runs around without a pair of shoes, I frankly believe. However, the police didn’t listen to me at that time. I was, apparently, right._

_As soon as we went to Baker Street, I started researching everything I could - mainly newspapers from 1989 that have reported Carl’s Powers death._

_John, on the other hand, was being very, very anxious about the situation, and, to complete it all, now Mycroft was texting him too. It’s curious how John is quaint about things of “national importance”. I would very much like to conduct a experiment to find out more data about it._

_Why was everything happening at once?_

_It was the time - I needed to think and John was putting me off. And I truly think some of the data he gathered could be valuable to me - then I designed him to be my representative._

_The information he gathered for me was nothing I wasn’t already aware of: Andrew West, twenty seven year-old man, member of MI6. He stayed with his fiancée until the ten thirty p.m., found at Battersea in the railway track, but he had an Oyster card that hadn’t been used and there was no sign of a train ticket on his body._

_I have an idea of what could have happened to him…Let’s not rush things. First things first: the puzzle!_

_Working on the case later in the evening (and the clock never stops), I finally had my answer: of course! If he had an eczema, it would be easy to introduce the poison into his medication. And there were traces of_ Clostridium botulinum _… One of the most dangerous poisons of the planet - it kills fast (paralyzes the muscles) and it’s almost undetectable. The perfect poison! After solving it, I typed as fast as I could on my website:_

**FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.**

_A few moments later, the phone rang again - I solve it. I did it in 9 hours. I’m getting better and better!_

_No more explosions and Sherlock Holmes won this round! 1x0._

_4 more rounds to go!_  

* * *

John scrubbed his face and decided it was time to sleep.

Turning off the lights, John’s last thought was that knowing the existence of the diaries before would make everything much more simple. They would be able to avoid all these situations, he could understand Sherlock better…

A few hours later, the nightmare - Sherlock’s fall, John watching incapable of doing anything to save his best friend, knowing the detective would be lost forever and he would be alone in the world, again, the same as he left Afghanistan - came to hunt him. Wide awake, John knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again.

Sherlock wasn’t home - which made things even worse.

The rest of the night, John’s only thought was: would it be really better if he knew about everything? Sherlock’s feelings, his plans…

The fall.

Would John be able to stop all that?

******

One whole day passed until John could read the diaries again. The nightmares had returned, Julie was in school, Sherlock wasn’t there, Mrs. H was no help (she always talked about both of them, of course). John decided to clear his head of the feelings and the fear before getting back to it.

He went to the park and felt like he hadn’t run for ages. Exercising a little bit, he let all the thoughts out of his mind, only breathing the cold breeze of the morning and letting its oxygen reaches his tired mind.

He went to a pub with Lestrade later in that evening and they talked about nothing of importance - Greg was a good friend and had years of experience knowing when John wanted to talk about Sherlock or just forget.

After a few beers, John came home and slept like he hadn’t before - the nightmare was still there, but John was ready for it.

In the next morning, he decided to keep going. He needed to finish the diaries - to see everything they have gone through Sherlock’s eyes. Preparing a cup of tea, he sat in Sherlock’s chair - an act of defiance by itself - and resumed the reading.

* * *

_In the next morning, Lestrade spared us the boring details; however, my mind was far away from there. When you’re dealing with a criminal mind, there are two things you must try with all your might to accomplish:_

_1) Be aware of any mistake. If not, try to fool them into it._

_2) Be always one step forward. It’s like a chess game: with pre-moves prepared, you can make any play without being surprised by your enemy’s moves._

_For now, the mastermind in question and I were even. He gave me a puzzle, I solved it, no lifes were wasted. However, troubles may happen! I needed to absolutely accomplish step 2 in no time._

_Lestrade made an accurate question: Why would this person do this? I’ve wondered the same non stop these last hours and the only conclusion I could come with - I’m not the only person in the world that gets bored to death. And since this person is powerful - their boredom is more dangerous than we can imagine. For the first time, I must admit some criminal mind to match mine._

_The phone rang, four pipes, one picture of a car: the second puzzle began._

_Just as Lestrade went to check information about the car, Donovan brought another phone for me (calling me “freak”, of course. Thank you, Donovan. You’re really charming). The criminal mind had stolen another voice again - and this time, the man seemed to be out in the public._

_I was right about Carl Powers - he has laughed of the person behind all this - so he was killed._

_Now I only had 8 hours to solve the new puzzle. I needed to be more careful and faster._

 

******

_Around the river, the car of the picture was parked. Apparently, it was rented by a banker, he told his wife he was going on a business trip, but was killed before reaching his destiny._

_(I could spend two pages and a half telling you about Donovan's lovely remarks about me to John, comparing me - imagine that! - as a hobby and that John would be better fishing or doing another thing, but I won’t do that. You’re not worthy of it, Donovan. I use facts against people - you only use insults. Who is the worst between us?)_

_Inside the car, blood and a card from the hiring office, “Janus Cars”. The blood, surely, belongs to Monkford and there was no body there._

_Where could it go?_

_I saw a woman crying in the corner of the crime scene and an idea came to my mind. She was probably the man’s wife, she could spare me some details and clues. As soon as I laid my eyes on her, I knew I couldn’t show my true self to her - she seemed to be clever and her posture showed me she was on defensive. You always need to read your interlocutor before he reads you - chess game, remember?_

_I presented myself as Monkford’s old friend, teary as her. She had her suspicious, of course, but there’s nothing one person like to do the most as contradict you. Bad habit, good for me. She only told me things I already knew from Lestrade - the most important clue was the tone: past tense. The car was just found out - people don’t speak about dead people in past tense unless there’s clear evidence - a body - and some time has passed._

_It was a fraud and she was clearly involved._

_Soon after, John and I went to Janus Cars. The owner, Ewert, had a little chat that provided to be vital to the case: while pointing to a photo of a car on the wall - the same hired by the banker - I could see he had tan marks in his collarbone - just where a shirt would be. Despite his denial, no one uses sunbeds with a shirt on; I asked a change for the cigarettes machine and I could see his wallet was full of foreigner cash - Colombian. And his left arm was bleeding a little - just a dot - and, probably, itching._

_Mr. Ewert’s had been in a trip and didn’t want to tell us. Later in that day, the bomber called me and told the clue was on the name - Janus, the god with two faces. Then I had full certainty that the car hire shop’s owner knew and was involve in the scheme as well. An experience with the blood proved that the blood was really Mr. Monkford’s blood, but it has been frozen before - exactly a pint._

_Ian Monkford needed to disappear, Janus Cars helped him. The wife was invoved! Clear as day. As soon as we came back, I wrote in my blog:_

**Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.**

_You should have seen me! I was sparkling!_

* * *

 “You really enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?” Chuckled John, finishing his breakfast and getting up to wash the dishes.

He stopped for a moment and looked at Sherlock’s bedroom - all stayed as quiet as ever.

John absolutely hated the silence - in his mind, old memories of Sherlock’s voice and his bloody violin were playing.

Diaries tell stories, but the sounds are irreplaceable.


	6. Changes (aka. The Great Game, part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dears!
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, but this chapter was SO difficult! I mean, I had it written down, but it was too cheesy for my tastes!  
> I've done my best here, but it doesn't mean it can't be improved! All input is very, very appreciated (even if it's still too cheesy or not)!
> 
> And, again, forgive any mistakes, this is not beta'ed! I read it over and over and over, but it's possible something is still wrong, okay??
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Jane.

John’s reading was interrupted by the ringtone of his phone.

**Restrict Number**

The doctor sighed, knowing far too well who was it.

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, doctor Watson.’

“Good afternoon, Mycroft. Can I help you?

There was a low chuckle on the other side of the phone.

“To tell you the truth, I am the one who’s helping. Sherlock asked me a favor.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. He can’t be on touch right now. Apparently, Lupin…”

“Lupin? You mean, Arsène Lupin?

“Of course. It’s obvious, I believe.”

“No, you don’t get it. Arsène Lupin is a fictional character, isn’t he? His writer died ages ago.”

“Hardly "ages", doctor. And, if you remember, criminals like to use fictional characters’ names as nicknames. For example, the Golem.”

John sighed.

“I hope Sherlock knows what he is doing. If I’m not mistaken and this ‘new criminal mind’ is slightly like Lupin, the only thing he’d want is the fame and the glory of defeating the cleverest minds around the world.”

Mycroft chuckled again.

“Oh, ordinary people. Even the great Lupin was obvious to Sherlock. we discussed the matter and I don’t have any doubts my brother will figure this out - if he already hasn’t. Have a little faith.”

“I trust Sherlock and I know how bloody amazing he can be, Mycroft, but I’ll still worry about him.”

“Sherlock asked me to warn you about his silence. Since he’s undercover, it’s impossible to him contact you yet.”

“Thank you. When will he come back?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to give you that information.”

“Okay. Bye, Mycroft.”

John sighed once more, unsure if he ought to be relieved or not. On one hand, not having Sherlock around would give him time to figure out his guilty and decision of finishing the reading of the diaries. On the other hand, Sherlock not being around made him uneasy. The detective went undercover many, many times before and some of them didn’t go that smoothly.

What if he was hurt? What if…?

John shook his head fiercely and decided to take a walk and get Julie out of school (after calling Mary first, of course). He wouldn’t worry about that matter anymore.

But the speed of his heart was high for some time, and his uneasy wouldn’t go away at all.

* * *

_Two challenges solved. Three more to go!_

_After solving the second puzzle, John insisted that we should go get something to eat - which is totally dumb and worthless, if you asked me, but I won’t argue with him. Not now._

_My head needs to think and the criminal mind behind all this was taking awfully long to contact. John and I went for some coffee shop around the corner._

_My fellow soldier is getting better and better everyday, trying to use more of the brain of his. He started telling me that our criminal - the bomber - is playing a game with me._

_All of this is a warning, a threat or something we don’t recall yet destined to fall upon my hands._

_You’re absolutely right, John. And I have a feeling, too, that the name on the cabbie’s lips the evening we first met has something to do with it, but I won’t make assumptions for now._

_An idiot would use the facts to make some theory about Moriarty true; however, we are wiser than that, John. Let’s gather facts and make the theories suit them._

_Just when I was almost to the point of losing my good temper - here they were! The two short and one longer beeps. Our beloved criminal sent me the third puzzle of this game._

_Okay, so there’s this woman._

_A smiling woman._

_A middle-aged smiling woman._

_I almost give up. That could be - I mean it - anyone in the world! How am I supposed to win an unfair game like this?_

_Fortunately, John was of help this time. Apparently, the woman runs - or better, ran - a tv show about make-over on telly.I was trying to understand what it all meant when the phone finally rang._

_This criminal fellow is smart - way smarter than I would credit him for, I admit - but there are some limits of how you should treat others. Even I, who doesn’t care at all about people in general, am starting to feel about the hostage this time. The victim was, according to my own perception and what he told me, a blind old woman._

_How can you even call her ‘a funny one’? Your idea of fun is completely out of context! And when I asked them what’s it all about, the answer I got was: ‘I like to watch you dance.”_

_Twelve hours to solve the puzzle._

******

_After some talk and a bit of eating - John wouldn’t let the chance pass, you see - we went to Bart’s morgue. Well, Connie Prince is dead, of course. We needed to seek more clues._

_Lestrade told me some details I already had deduced - mostly correct: she was fifty-your years old, ran a show about make-up, a very popular show (for who, I wonder)._

_Now the interesting facts: she was dead for two days and the causa-mortis was, as Raoul de Santos, one of her employees told, a cut on her hand. If the cut is too deep, there is room for Clostridium tetani to enter and the effects of the toxin - like muscular spams and respiratory failure - can lead to death, just like hers. The cut was between her right thumb and the index finger, however, something was off. Not only because the bomber leads us to that - it was only the first clue - but since the cut is too deep, the bleeding would be massive. However, it was clean and since the bacteria would have at least an incubatory period of 8 days, Connie Prince’s wound was made after she was dead._

_A good puzzle! How could the bacteria have entered her system?_

_I asked John to seek more that for me while I tried to dodge from Lestrade’s questions. I’m sorry, D.I., but it was hardly the time for such waste._

_If the thrill doesn’t appeal to you, think about the hostage. Her life was in danger._

* * *

 “Dad”, Julie asked him after dinner. “Tell me a story about Uncle Sherl!”

John finished eating his carrots (after being a father and having Julie around, no takeaways for him anymore, only bloody vegetales and another healthy stuff he knew too well as a doctor) and smiled to her.

“A story? I told you so many before, let me see…” John searched his mind, but the only story that he remembered vividly was the Great Game one, since he was reading that. “I know the perfect story!” Julie's excitement made him laugh. “But, first, let’s clean our mess, young lady, then I’ll tell you.”

Julie nodded and sighed dramatically, reminding him of Sherlock’s bad behavior about human habits.

* * *

  _I passed the next hours studying everything I could: maps, photographs of the victim - both alive and dead -, Carl Powers’s articles on newspapers and some of my notes. I pinned some of them on the wall, so I could get a better view or even link one to each other; however… there was nothing._

_The criminal behind all this is such a show off! It bothers me._

_Just speaking of the devil, the bomber actually called me again. He said that “I enjoy joining the dots.”, which, I’m afraid, it’s totally correct. Solving puzzles are my daily bliss, my refuge from the doomed common life._

_There are only three hours left and I still don’t have a clue about the connection between such events! The secretary of Home Office actually gave me some tips about what was_ _going on (which, I hope, I can connect with body evidences), but I need more data!_

_DAMN IT!_

_But when I was almost losing my good temper, John called. He’s not the most clever human being, but as a conductor of light, he is the best! He asked me to bring some stuff to make his disguise - as a reporter, apparently - still trustworthy._

******

_As soon as I arrived (as a photographer), I analyzed everything: Kenny Prince (Connie’s brother)’s hands, even John’s posture - he was so proud of himself!_

_Kenny was his sister's spoiled clown, she humiliated him every day. When he had enough, they fought and Connie actually threatened to disinherit Kenny. Since Raoul is Kenny’s favorite, he had a certain way of life he wouldn’t lose at any price. And Raoul - look at the coincidence - was the one to make Connie Prince Botox injections. Making the dosis a bit higher - and his internet history of purchases can prove he had more botox than he should - and the paralysis is lethal._

_(John was thinking the cat was the cause of it! I’m sorry for disappointing you, John, I really am. But you’re getting better, so cheer up!)_

_We took some photographs and headed to Lestrade’s office. When we finally reached it, there was only one hour up to go (and decreasing). I explained everything to the D.I. (as slower as I can - and Lestrade is one of the good ones, can you believe it?) and tried to dodge from - this time - John's anger._

_I can (try to) understand why he is so angry about this. Yes, I’ve known the answer for this puzzle for quite some time, but remember, John, this is a game, almost like a chess: we always need to be some moves ahead or it would be useless to play. I know you’re concerned about the hostage’s life - God bless you, soldier. However, as you may see, I can do better without involving me too much._

**Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.**

_I posted the answer as soon as possible and, in no time, the pink phone starts to ring again._

_…_

_I’ve failed._

_No, no, no, that’s not it. I solved the puzzle, the answer was right - it was a easy one after all - but the hostage couldn’t be saved. I wasn’t able to stop her for telling me things about the bomber._

_With her, another 11 people died due to a “gas explosion”, as the boring news would tell us later._

_First, Soo Lyn Yao. Now this hostage._

_I must be prepared, I can’t afford more deaths like that…_

_What would it do to my reputation?_

******

_I saw the news and thought it over several times, some facts are clear to me now._

_First of all, the criminal mind put himself in the line. The old woman had contact with him - when no other did._

_I can’t say I don’t admire his line of work, because I do. Whenever someone wants to do something fairly illegal, there he is. Helping you to disappear, to get rid of some undesirable people or even, perhaps, affording you to be a serial killer cabbie!_

_John is obviously uncomfortable about it and I can understand why. He is brave and kind and heroic, so he can’t actually understand how can I find it all so amusing and endearing. Take the lives out of picture, John. Take the danger out of it and you’ll be able to see the puzzle clearly._

_Puzzles to make me dance._

_At least I hope so. Boredom to minds like mine - or like his, I presume - is really hard to take. When the world doesn’t afford you a distraction, you should make one yourself - that’s what I do with the cases and the cigarettes, that’s what he do with murders and his criminal activities._

_Different endings, the same source. And then it hit me._

_John was disappointed at me. He made me into a hero, which, frankly, I’m not. I’m sorry for breaking the palace of your dreams, John. Real life is calling!_

_Speaking of calls, the bomber finally contacted me - what he sent me was a view of the South Bank of the Thames. John was not all thrilled to help me at first, but fortunately he seemed to get back into his senses and started searching on papers while I checked my phone with any news about the locations._

_There’s nothing! Nothing! How can it be? I must use my secret weapon!_

******

_Lestrade was not thrilled to see me again either - apparently, I don’t bring too many good news with me._

_There’s a body of a man on the south bank of the Thames, like I presumed. We gathered some facts about him (he was in his thirties, causa-mortis: asphyxiation, died about twenty-four hours ago, guard at some museum) while I searched for a criminal, an old fellow of criminal history._

_The modus-operandi was just like his - Oskar Dzundza, the Golem, one of the most dangerous assassin in the world._

_Oh! Oh! Oh! And since we’re into it, the new Vermeer - a supposed painting from a lost dutch master which is worth 30 million pounds - is a fake._

_How do I know it? Well, it wouldn’t have a point of killing some museum staff if he didn’t know something he shouldn’t. Just a quick search told me the Hickman Gallery reported one of his attendants as missing. This puzzle gets better and better!_

_After using some of my connections to gather information about the endings of a certain children’s book beast, John and I parted different ways: while he would try to find everything about the museum’s attendant, I decided to go to the gallery and use some of my disguise abilities to seek any clues about the fake panting and to do some confrontations. It’s still morning - easy as cake, for me, to infiltrate the museum staff without being noticed. No one should be there - even the staff should be doing their job, not lazing around near the lost Vermeer, specially if said person was one of a kind, like the last attendant._

_(Not my very best outfit - I must confess - but not the worst either.)_

_Dressed as a security guard, I remained still, watching the painting very closely, for enough time to storage the image on my mind palace, but also to meet a new person - I did want to someone notice me - perhaps someone who was involved in the fake painting scheme, which proved to be Miss. Winceslas._

_(I don’t know yet what the victim knew about it, but I have my best man on it)._

_I gave her a piece of my mind and her reaction told me she HAD, somehow, involvement on the scheme as well._

_I returned to Baker Street and did some extra research, but without success. And the time is passing by and John isn’t back yet…_

_If Mycroft has something to do with it, I swear!..._

* * *

“What?” Julie’s eyes widened. “Uncle Sherl has a brother?! You never told me that, dad!”

John went speechless for a moment, then started laughing hard.

“Out of all things I just told you, my Julie, your uncle’s homeless network, the game… And you only paid attention to the fact that he has a brother?”

Julie made a small (and very cute) pout.

“His brother could be my uncle too! You know I only have uncle Sherl and aunt Harry!”

“You’re right, my love, but Mycroft isn’t someone you would want to call an uncle.”

She smiled a bit.

“Dad, people called you…” She paused for a moment, trying to remember the word. “What was that?... Ah! A 'ba-che-lor'. And you married mummy, right?”

“Yes, but this is different and…”

“And mummy told me people used to say uncle Sherl couldn’t love anyone, but he loves me and you and her too!”

“Yes, my baby, you’re right.”

“Hey! I’m a grown girl!”

He chuckled and hugged her.

“I hope you never grow too much.”

_I wouldn’t mind, doctor Watson. If you change your mind in the future, let me know. **MH** _

John couldn’t guess what Mycroft meant with that, but it was nice of him to pay attention to Julie’s needs (although monitoring the flat was a creepy activity to be engaged on).

* * *

_My exasperation hit a critical level, so I decided to move. I was just leaving the flat to receive the winnings of some_ investment _when John appeared. He blabbled about some useless information, but nothing too important or critical._

_What my connections gave me, however, was fairly more useful. Do you remember the Golem? What would be a better hiding spot than Vauxhall Arches?._

_John and I headed to that location, a dark corner of London, and I just spared a second to appreciate the stars - it’s rare, almost impossible to see this city’s sky so clear._

_(John, this is like art - I can appreaciate, but it doesn’t mean I have to know things about it)_

_We talked a bit while I’m looking and… there he was! The Golem! Unfortunately, he ran as soon as we were chasing him, sitting on a car and leaving even before John could aim and stop him._

_'It was SO frustrating! Now that we had found him, it would take years to find him again!', it’s what you must be thinking. I confess I thought the same; however, I did tell you I had my best man working in other clues as well, didn’t I?_

_The highlight!John Watson had told me before we reached the Arches that Alex Woodbridge, the museum attendant, was an amateur astronomer and he was in contact with some professor Cairns. I didn’t tell you, but the painting had a sky with stars and other things I won’t bother to mention, but it was clear as day! The new painter made a mistake and Woodbridge found out!_

_But what?_

_We did some research (thankfully, Lestrade could help us this time - checking the list is an easy thing to do, I am sure) and found out a Professor Cairns, specialist on stars and planets (I don’t know what they’re called. Don’t mock me, I hate not knowing!) and arrived the planetarium’s theatre just in time to see Golem asfixiating her!The lights after that became a mess and Golem, who is a seven feet tall man, was completely invisible on our bare eyes! But not for too long: soon he tried to asfixiate me! if John wasn’t there, I would be dead by now, that’s for sure!_

  _…_

_The fact is: after some attacks of mine and John (I assure you we did fight with him), Dzundza was gone, which frustrated me even more! However, it could be a useful situation, even if Golem escaped. Since I heard and saw some information about our universe there, I decided to keep some of that knowledge inside my head. Everything on that challenge seemed to be leading to it!_

******

_In the morning, I asked John to call Lestrade and the three of us went to the museum to try to find out another possible remaining clue that we hadn’t noticed. I searched my phone about all the tests that could prove the painting was fake, but even Miss Wenceslas said it went through every test possible, and I don’t doubt this information, since it is a 30 million worth painting._

_And the pink phone rang. I aswered it as soon as possible and said the painting was a fake, but he, our criminal mind, didn’t take it as valid answer: I needed to prove!_

_(This criminal mind is brilliant, I must admit, but his tastes are so, so, so awful. I mean, playing with adults like us is fine, but using a kid as hostage on it too is too much!)_

_The boy started a countdown through the phone and I needed to concentrade even more, because Lestrade and John couldn’t shut up their bloody mouths!_

_Ten…_

_Nine…_

_Eight…_

_Seven…_

_Six…_

_Five…_

_Something caught my attention on the painting and I saw the answer! It was there, before my bare eyes!_

_Four…_

_Of course John didn’t remember, but we did hear it on the planetarium!_

_Three…_

_I just needed to do some research on my phone to confirm and it was done!_

_Two..._

_THE VAN BUREN SUPERNOVA!_

_And I did it (not that I was doubting myself, but the last one was a failure and I didn’t want to repeat that)! This exploding star only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight, how could Vermeer have painted it in the sixteen forties? A total and proved fake painting, thank you!_

_After that, Lestrade and I had a bit of talk with Miss Wenceslas, just in case she didn’t know what was awaiting for her…_

_Moriarty, she said in a moment of dispair. Moriarty was behind all that! At first, I thought about him as common criminal mind, but after all this puzzle, I am sure he is a spider, tangling his web around London, England, and, I fear, around the world._

* * *

“.. Julie?” John chuckled, seeing his daughter fast asleep on his lap. “I think it’s bed-time now, my young lady.”

He went upstairs and placed her on his bed, covering her tiny body with a blanket and kissing her forehead lightly. “Good night, my sweetheart.”

Going back to the main room, John didn’t want to admit, but their adventures told by Sherlock were making the tranquility of his days go away.

His heart was racing with each impression of Sherlock. And, if he was true to himself, he knew critical moments of their life were about the be revealed and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle those memories.

Nevertheless, John sat on his chair again and resume reading.

* * *

_Mocking Mycroft is one my beloved joys since I can remember. He was always on the position of the “responsible big brother”, so I, of course, took my role as the “brat baby brother”. However, I’m not crazy (enough) to ignore serious matters, even when Mycroft is involved._

_I pretended to not be interested on the missile plans’ stealing, but, to tell the truth, my “eyes and ears” around London were monitorating every step of John when he was making his round, and now it was time for me to stop John’s training (of course it was a training! I'd never let John handle everything by himself without supervision!) and step right into the game again._

_Do you really believe (and here I go, talking to you again) that a criminal mind would go to such lenghts, to lose money (and not any money - thirty million pounds) just to make me “dance”?_

_The missile plans were the true meaning behind all that, the puzzles were made to make me forget about it, to make me stay away while Moriarty continued to tangle his web._

_Ah, you should know better._

_I followed John till Battersea and give the final clue to his deducing: yes, Andrew West wasn’t a jumper nor what killed him was being hit by the train, since there was no blood on the railway lines. He was murdered - and, considering what we had gathered, John, I’m sure the killer was Joe Harrison, the brother of West’s fiancée. He stole the missile plans, but couldn’t sell it  yet (this is not something you can get rid of without attracting unwanted attention), so we went to his flat (yes, some of break-in, sorry about that) and, when pressed against the wall (metaphorically), he confessed._

_He stole the stick, West found out, they had an argument, he fell down the stairs and Joe decided to get rid of the corpse, putting it above one of the train’s cars. If there wasn’t that curve on Battersea, where inertia made its job and Andrew West’s body fell, it wouldn’t be find for a long, long time._

******

_And I waited. And waited. And waited (even watched crap telly, ugh, dull). And the final beep never came. I know he wanted the plans, I know he wanted to show off, we’re similar, that’s what I’d do if I was a criminal mind (fortunately, I’m not). I just couldn’t sit there and do nothing, so I waited till John left the flat (yes, John, go on a date and please don’t come back soon. I will even get the milk if necessary. If possible, I’d like to avoid involving you on that as well) to make the final move of our chess game:_

 

**Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.**

**The Pool. Midnight.**

 

_Of course, it would have to be nostalgic. What’s more nostalgic to a criminal mind than the first place where he killed someone?_

_At midnight, I was there, at the pool, almost unable to refrain my curiosity. I NEEDED to know who was the person behind all this, the master mind who made me dance all around London because of a stick. I was aware that the upper gallery of the pool was still in the darkness, so it was an easy spot to hide a sniper or something similar. If possible, I'd like to avoid dying._

_After scanning what I could of the place, I started playing my "new role" (because it was a play - almost a musical, if he and I would sing), telling him I was there and what I deduced about all his little game._

_…_

_John._

_John appeared._

_You can’t possible imagine my shock and the cold shiver that went down my spine, a fear of betrayal leaving a sick taste on my tongue._

_For a moment, I almost thought John was Moriarty. I imagined all the cenarios, he faking his story, pretendind to be a normal person, watching me struggling with his puzzle while he laughed to himself!..._

 

_Three short blinks. Three long blinks. Three short blinks again._

_...___..._

_SOS_

 

_I’m glad John was in the army and I’m even more glad I know morse code. And even if I hadn’t deduced the asking for help, John opened his jacket and I could see a bomb strapped to his chest. Not long after, a laser started dancing around there (a sniper’s one, meaning I was right about the upper gallery)._

_He continued to make John repeat some cruel words, like saying he stopped Carl Powers and he could stop John too._ _I was almost giving up on meeting him there when, in responsive of my question “who are you?”, an Irish man’s voice answer._

_I’ve heard this voice before, but where?..._

_It hit me right after, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure to know I still remembered him, so I pretended to be intrigued, but poor Molly! Your gay (ex)boyfriend is, also, a consulting criminal!_

_I put myself in a defensive position, reaching the gun on my pocket (and hearing an awful joke about it, I won’t bother to transcript it here) and aiming that to our enemy._

_His name: Jim (from the IT) Moriarty (the criminal spider). Nice name, by the way._

_As he was saying he was a ‘specialist like me”, I remember an old tv show, “Jim’ll Fix It” and decided to mock him just a little bit more. I can have my share of fun too, right? And I needed to earn time to think about how I would take John and I out of that situation without any explosion._

_I’m not letting you hurt John Watson, “dear Jim”. Let’s make things clear._

_He continued to come closer, trying to flatter me with his praising and saying that he’d done that to make me play, “no one ever gets to me” boring villain’s catchphrase and I watched all that, playing his game a little bit, allowing him to do as he pleased. When I reminded him that people have died, his manner changed for a second: he said, angrily, “that’s what people do!”. I couldn’t agree more, Moriarty (let’s stop the formalities, shall we?), but I’ll stop you. I told you that in the moment and I’ll tell you now. I’ll stop you, whatever it takes._

_I handed him the missile plans and he, can you believe it, threw it away on the pool and…_

_..._

_John did an impossible thing. It keeps running on my mind, on and on and on. John Watson, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, tried to stop Moriarty to give me room to flee._

_He tried to save my life, after all the things I'd said and done that day, he tried to save me. The second time since we met._

_He tried to save me, even if he could die in the process. There was no other prospect: if Jim wasn’t too crazy, John would have died after that attempt._

_I don’t know what to think, the other events are just a foggy memory: I recall some talk about death, some dancing of ours, I remember I even threatened to shoot him right on the face (I was very calm at the moment), but nothing stayed longer on my mind after everything ended, except for John’s act._

_Moriarty is out there (apparently, someone made he change his mind after trying to kill us twice), but we’ll meet again._

_I just can’t afford to put John’s life in danger one more time. It’s time to be some steps ahead of him._

_Just you wait, “Jim”!_


	7. Inglorius (aka A Scandal in Belgravia, part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> I'm truly, truly sorry. This chapter is the most tough one so far. I couldn't help but split it in two parts - or the chapter would be 6k+ words long. I hope you understand!
> 
> Oh, by the way: if some of you know a brit picker to help me out in this, I truly appreciate! Sometimes I feel my english is too american!
> 
> PS: The ___ changes from "John's" P.O.V to Sherlock's diaries and vice versa, while the ** changes moments inside the same part (like John's reality now or days in Sherlock's diaries)
> 
> Happy new year!
> 
> Jane.

"John?"

The doctor looked up from his newspaper to the housekeeper - better, the landlady - frowning slightly.

"Yes,  Mrs. Hudson?"

"There's a visitor...."

"Not quite, but thank you. " Mycroft said,  entering the flat without permission. "Would I have the pleasure to talk to both of you?  As quick as possible,  of course. "

Mrs. H and John looked at each other for a moment,  confused.

"Well... I can't say no to you,  can I, Mycroft? "

The other smirked.

"You can try. "

Sensing the tension,  Mrs. H. sat on Sherlock's chair,  leaving the couch to Mycroft.

"Let's get started,  boys?"

"Yes.  As I've said to John earlier, Sherlock went on a mission to defeat a certain French mastermind. The problem is... " he put his umbrella on his lap and caressed it with a distracted move. "Said criminal is more dangerous than we've expected. Sherlock sent me this message this morning. " he reached for his pocket and fished his phone,  searching the message and showing it:

 

_Vatican Cameos.  Baker Street. Retirement to Sussex._

 

John frowned again, feeling the excitement rising up his gut. "I recall the key-phrase, but I don't understand. "

"We're going to play a little game, shall we?" He smiled and showed a paper to Mrs. Hudson.  "221 Baker Street is suffering from a rat invasion, and you had to hire a pest management professional and John and you will have to leave the flat for a while. "

"Are these rats so dangerous,  Mr. Holmes? "

Mycroft expression changed for a moment.

"Not so dangerous... But they like to play dirty games."

Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"I can stay with my sister for a while, but I don't know about John..."

"That's perfect,  in fact.  Sherlock asked to move both of you to Sussex; however,  personally,  I don't agree it would be safe. With both of you on different locations,  the story we're telling is more plausible. "

The landlady nodded again and went downstairs to pack.

"There's only a problem here,  Mycroft. "

"Yes,  doctor Watson?"

"I wasn't consulted about this, I don’t feel the urge to leave."

"Oh, I'm afraid it wasn't possible. An urgent matter rised and we couldn't waste precious time. If I were you,  John,  I'd start to pack immediately. " He smiled,  standing up and hooking his umbrella on his right arm. "Here are everything you'll need for your trip: a card with money for tickets,  food, cabs. And this is the address. " Mycroft handed him a card and a paper, turning to leave.

"And what about...?"

"Julie? It is already a settled matter: since her vacations are two weeks from now, Mary and David agreed on letting her pass some time with you there.  It's a lovely property, John, Sherlock's favorite. "

With that being said,  he finally left. John sighed and stood up, going upstairs to pack his few belongings. What was Sherlock up to?

While his suitcase was being done,  John considered the diaries. Obviously,  he wouldn't be able to read them again.

"Perhaps it's for the best. " he sighed again, the guilt slowly twisting his belly, making he feel even more nervous.  Well, one thing was reading them at his and Sherlock's shared place, other thing was reading at an entirely Sherlock's. "He would be able to figure this out without doubt. I'm not very discrete." John looked at the volume on his bedtable, the last he just read.

He shook his feelings and fears out of his mind and resumed the packing.

******

The train finally stopped at Sussex station, waking John up. Groaning a little, he stretched himself and looked at the view, feeling a bit awkward and already missing London.

After getting his packages, he hired a cab and went to Sherlock's property, seeing the view changing slightly,  remembering him of the old times,  when the countryside was more camp and grass. Arriving the place,  he found out there was a house boy to do all the chores,  so he could rest...

However,  resting on a situation like that would be worthless and impossible.  He was worried about Sherlock and very much pissed for having to leave Baker Street on such hurry. On a  impulsive decision, he decided to do all the hard work, asking the boy to teach him and leaving that to him afterwards. His name was Steve, and Steve agreed, only taking care Sherlock's bees, which surprised John.

Sherlock's bees... who would guess?

Steve showed him the property,  telling in what days they did what and how to do some chores, like cutting wood for the fireplace and cleaning the grass where it grew too much.

At the end of the day, John was tired,  but more and more calm. He had almost forgotten how physical work was magic to soothe a heart! But the only thing he wanted at that moment was to take a good shower and have a proper meal.

Going to "his" bedroom, he found a very known arc on his bed.

"What... what..."

Looking closer, he found a note.

 

_"John,_

_The flat is not a safe place anymore; therefore I'm hiding S's precious stuff around. And considering you were enjoying the reading of those diaries lately, I thought they wouldn't be safer anywhere than with you._

_Sincerely,_

_M."_

 

John let out a strangled laugh. If he wasn't so cetic about it, he would think the universe was conspiring to make him read those diaries till the end.

* * *

_I don’t really understand what John finds so appaling in that blog._

_Yes, yes, yes, I know. I’m writing on a diary and I also have a blog. But don’t you think this is slightly different? My blog is entirely work related, I don’t share personal information and I surely don’t write fantastic adventures also. Because it’s what John does: despite the facts there being true, he tends to romanticize things and make me more human than I am._

_Either way, I don’t care… However, it’s surely infuriating how his blog is more famous than mine. “No one wants to know about two hundred forty types of tobacco ash”, John said once to me. “They want to know about your life.” Why do they want that? Are their lives so boring they must know about mine too? I really don’t understand this fascination towards someone like me._

_Well, people usually admires people that are better than them. Must be it!_

_(And in case you’ve already forgotten, John, I list two hundred forty- **three** types of tobacco ash. Don’t be stupid!)_

******

_It’s odd. A small bunch of easy and cracky cases now and then and surely lots of boring and not worthy ones, some unresolved ones: “my wife doesn’t leave the office too often, my husband has an affair, I can pay you whatever you want to solve this for me” (I share a flat with someone, for God’s sake! If I were interested in money, I would work to Mycroft more often, this would make me rich), “human ash that is not human ash”... I’m seriously not satisfied. What is it that happens all the time to criminal minds?_

_(Not to mention John horrible “titles” for cases. I mean, The Speckled Blonde?”)_

_Not even a single trace of Moriarty either. He is out there and John and I know it very well, but he also decided to stay in a low profile those days. This is infuriating!_

******

_After some time, finally what seemed a worthy case appeared: a man was supposed to be a victim of a plane crash in Dusseldorf, probably a terrorist attack. Instead, his body appears in the boot of a car in Southwark, with check in information and even napkins and biscuits airlines companies deliver to their passengers, which meant he even boarded the plane (supposedly). What could it possibly mean?_

_Lestrade led us to the crime scene and let room for me and John work. At a first glance, I could gather eight ideas about what could have happened: from a dealer not doing his job - as already happened several times - to involvement with the terrorists and later execution because he knew too much. However, they didn’t suit the facts and the clues I’ve found; therefore, from the eight initial ideas, I could only muster for sure two of them. It was very tiresome and, at the same time, very exciting. I didn’t have a case like that for days!_

_(John tried to post this unsolved one to his blog, but I forbid him. I don’t care if people think I’m human or not - since it’s screamingly obvious - and I do have an international reputation to conserve.)_

******

_(Actually, this blog of John’s is starting to be… annoying. Apparently, people do like to know about me and my life and even the press started to gather at the end of crime scenes. I’m famous now and I don’t know what to do with it. I can assure you, however, nothing good will come from this)._

* * *

John sighed.

“Right, as always.”

* * *

_Not long after, another case appeared. I’ve been working with a rating system to cases from 1 - why are you bothering telling me this? - to 10 - Christmas. John and I agreed I wouldn’t leave the flat for at least a seven and, unfortunately for them, this was barely a six._

_(Yes, John agreed with me. He says he was out of the flat at the time we’ve setled the matter, but we both know it’s just an excuse.)_

_The case came first to our attention when a guy fainted in our kitchen, just in front of Mrs. Hudson, who was, as always, trying to clean up the fridge and ruin my experiments, lovely. The man was a mid aged one, morbidly obese, living on his own and - as I could deduce by his right sleeve - a porn addicted (also, the way he breathed indicated some kind of untreated condition - probably the heart). As soon as he explained the case, I excluded him as a suspect. With all this patterns, it would be impossible to him to be the mastermind of it. I mean, he even called the police and hired a consulting detective - even if he was trying to be clever, it would take him more than that, way more._

_What happened: our client stopped at some part of the road  (John says his name is Phil, but right now it’s not important) because his car wouldn’t turn on. On the field ahead, there was a sportist - probably a track and field one - looking to the sky. After some moments of distraction where our “suspect” was trying to make the car work, the other guy appeared laid on the floor - dead, as we all know now. It happened forteen hours on prior._

_As the case was probably not worth my time (as we finally acknowledged later on), I sent my best man to the crime scene. John brought his notebook and set up wifi connection and a  video chat to let me se the surroundings of where the murder was been commited._

_(John seemed worried about my feelings because, as he would probably say, I was exposing myself, only wondering around the flat with a sheet on. However, John, what was the point of a complete outfit if I weren’t going to leave Baker Street either way? I appreciate it, however.)_

_As John showed me the grass near the steam, something called my attention: a very… uncommongly shaped mark, as uncommon as it’s owner, mainly in our country._

_When the possibility was clear on my mind, John kept explaining: the car was right before the victim. If it made a loud sound, the man would look around, leaving his neck exposed to that deadly hit. There was no evidence of gun and shooting. The object which hit him was blunt, and only a blow on the back of his neck was enough._

_We were looking for a blunt object with an uncommon shape, easy to be throw from behind and even light enough to be carried by the stream, since its mark was there…_

_Boomerang. Of course it’s a boomerang! It fits the description I just gave you! The biggest mistake of our dead fellow was to look back._

_The only problem was to explain to the dumb detective in charge why the client wasn’t a suspect. He wasn't even trying! Everything was there and, still, the "detective" refused to observe what were glowing in front of his eyes!_

_I was going to make clear my displeasure to his awful way of work when two men in suits entered the flat along with Mrs. Hudson and cut my internet connection with John. At first I was confused of what was happening, since all my enemies were quiet and I would know if they were moving, I have my network._

_It could be a new threat, however. I had no other choice than do what I’m the best on: gathering data and deducing. Their suits were expensive, considering the brand and the way the texture looked under the light; the area around their breast pockets were flat and their clothes didn’t had any other places were they could hide something big: no gun; their hands and their nails were in a good shape, without any signals of handwork and even their foreheads “screamed” they were office workers. With some more deductions, I figured out who was bothering me this time._

_Mycroft. I should’ve known, with his sick habbit of kidnapping others…_

_Well, they could force me to go where my brother wanted me, but they couldn’t force me - that’s for sure - to put clothes on. Plus, the shocking look on Mycroft’s face when I finally sat on one of those posh couchs of his! It was too tempting!_

_But even in my best dreams I couldn’t guess what was going on: Mycroft brought me to Buckham Pallace! Can you imagine how happy I was? The outrageous look on his face! I should had brought a camera… John joined me after some time, apparently my brother requested him as well. At least John has sense of humour! It was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever done: sitting my naked arse on one of those impossibly expensive royal couches. Priceless!_

_Mycroft and another useless and posh man like him explained the reason of all this afterwards (unfortunately, my arse was not bare anymore at time, since my brother was really being rude about this): there is this woman - Irene Adler is her name - who likes to play with people who are willing to pay. She is called Dominatrix._

_(Mycroft made a stupid remark about its connection with sex, but I won’t bother transcripting it)_

_A young female, heir of an illustrious person of our beloved nation, was interested in a bit of fun and Ms. Adler took it as an opportunity to blackmail the most powerful family of England.  Neat, isn’t it? And then it gets more interesting: she wants nothing for it, which means she is saving it to an occasion where it’ll be more useful._

_I must admit I’m normally not interested in another people or their relationships, but her scheeme surely got my attention, the temptation of retrieving the phone with those informations almost too much._

_And I must also let you know how useful John was as well. He doesn’t have a bright mind, but as a conductor of light he is rather unique: I had to prove myself worth of the Queen’s trust, so I deduced that one of the royal family members smoked, to the surprise of Mycroft's friend (colleague?). However, without John’s remarkable input earlier on, “I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray”, I probably would take a little more to deduce this fact (the other man said no one ever could find out about it, but I’m not sure if I should consider it a praising. Probably not)._

_Now it’s time to face this Dominatrix and see what she is made of. Into battle!_

* * *

John let out a loud chuckle. “I still remember you changing clothes unstop because of her. You sure were deep on it, Sherlock, although you wouldn’t admit it yourself.”

Despite this cool surface, John’s inner thoughts weren’t that calm. Irene wasn’t a big deal only to Sherlock, she was that to himself too. He still could feel the cold cramps going around his body as he remembered those particular moments, the ups and downs of Sherlock, the sad feelings of his flatmate and the way they bothered John.

Sighing, the doctor decided it was better for him to clear his thoughts before he could resume his reading.

From afar, a pair of blue piercing eyes watched him.


End file.
